


rishi’s unabridged instructions for living as a powered person.

by statsvitenskap



Category: Original Work, Skyrates (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, yahoo i gave us character tags again !
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statsvitenskap/pseuds/statsvitenskap
Summary: fam·i·ly (n)having someone love you unconditionally in spite of you and your shortcomings.
Relationships: Gabby & Rishi, Rishi & Jackie, Rishi & The Knowhere Crew
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9
Collections: Skyrates from Knowhere





	rishi’s unabridged instructions for living as a powered person.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/gifts), [The_Crab_Overlord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Crab_Overlord/gifts), [Spaghettoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaghettoi/gifts), [sapphicist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicist/gifts), [ibArche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibArche/gifts), [bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb/gifts), [GabtheTrashcan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabtheTrashcan/gifts).



> hey hey !! so uh. i know i'm not in christin anymore, and i probably won't be until most of everything dims down a bit, but i still really wanted to write this. i hope everyone in christin that i haven't talked to in a while is doing well!! i love all of you guys, and i miss you! maybe i'll join back soon, but for now, i'm having a good time in the friendship server.
> 
> anyways. i hope yall like this :) i'm glad i started writing things i actually enjoy now. i'm very proud of this, it was really fun to write hee hoo

Live your life quietly for fourteen long years. Pretend you’re a normal high schooler, and spit hatred towards those that are powered in your community. Spit hatred to your kindred spirits in the streets, and pray to any god out there that they will forgive you for it. They won’t.

Draw in the margins of your notebook. Hide your notebooks from your older brother. When he forgets to feed you for what must be the hundredth time by now, don’t blame him. Draw some pizza and peel it off your lined paper. Ignore the feeling of wet paper in your mouth that overwhelms the taste of tomato sauce. For you and him, food is scarce these days. 

Run away from home, knowing he will not care. He has his boyfriend for company anyways, and to him, you are just one more mouth to feed. Try to forget all about him when you roam the streets, and go to school pretending you have a home to go to. Feel lucky that your power is so easy to hide, as you sit at the window of the local salvation army and watch a teenage mother get turned away for the glowing of her child’s eyes.

Then, go out with a bang. 

Go to homecoming and gorge yourself at the “free concessions” stand. Wonder how they fit this much food into the gym. Start doing so-called party tricks at homecoming, while most of your underage classmates are drunk off their asses. Kiss a drunk boy. Kiss a drunk girl. Regret it immediately, though they don’t seem to. Party your ass off, even though there is a voice in the back of your head screaming at you not to. Party your ass off, because you have a nagging feeling that this will be your last chance to for a long time.

Draw the person you picture as your conscience, and for the first time ever, take a risk and peel them off the paper. Regret it immediately as they start to scream and wail and cry.  _ Why would you do this? Why did you dare?  _

Now listen to the howls of the teenagers around you as they start to realize you do not belong. Listen to them and their slurred words and let your eyes tear up. Listen to them and their cries, for you are the wolf in sheep’s clothing. You are an impostor, a monstrosity! You are nothing like them, and you never will be. Listen to them.

And then start running. 

(Start running and get used to it, because you’ll be doing a lot of it for the next couple of years.)

* * *

Run out of the gym. Your feet will burn in the cute little wedges you decided to “borrow” from the thrift shop a couple blocks away. Run anyways. Run and catch the next Greyhound bus. 

The driver’s name is Andy. He will tap his fingers on the steering wheel, tap his feet on the ground, blink a little too fast, a little too much, talk too fast for you to listen, and just overall seem like he’s a bit of a speed demon, especially when he drives. He is one of the kindred spirits on the street. Maybe he will pity you and your mussed hair, your bloodshot eyes, your snotty nose. 

He will. In fact, he will even let you on the bus without a ticket.

Hitch a ride all the way to New York City. Hope that it’s like the books you’ve read about it. Listen to Andy’s 2x speed rants about his life, and let it in one ear and out the other. You will never see him again anyways. Draw pizza and peel it off the paper. Sustain yourself on your own drawings for the entire bus ride. 

When you get to New York, realize that it’s nothing like you thought it would be. Hug Andy goodbye, for although you don’t care much for him, he is the closest thing you’ve had to family in a long, long time. Realize how sad that is, and wallow in your own self pity for a moment or two. 

See that the kindred spirits on the streets here have dead eyes, eyes with no light in them, like they’ve accepted their fate. Be naive. Be the child that you are. Refuse to accept your own damnation. Have hope. Bump into a middle aged man on the streets. Apologize profusely. Walk away quicker than you were before. Don’t look back. Don’t you dare. Don’t stare at the people staring at you. Keep your eyes to the ground, but stay alert. Stay alert because it’s a  _ big fucking world _ out there. Tell yourself to stay strong, even though deep down, you won’t believe it. 

Come across a library on the corner of a street. Sigh in relief. Remind yourself that libraries are always safe. Knowledge is something that will always be constant for you. Enter the library. Go up to the counter. Spark a conversation with the spunky, elderly librarian at the counter, whose hair is bright red aside from the lines of grey interwoven in between. Tell her you are new in town. She will offer you a place to stay the night. Accept the offer.

That night, you will hear a thump outside your window. Investigate it. Find a girl your age breathing heavily, as though she was just chased into the alley by your window. Try to start a conversation with her. She will look at you funny and then say something rude. Say something rude back and let what you said bounce around in your brain. Continue your banter with her. When she runs away into the night, do not worry. You will meet her again soon.

Until then, let your life turn upside down. Learn that the librarian’s name is Jackie. Learn that she is from the South just like you. Learn about the Alexandrian Powereds, who live dangerously and openly. Learn about the risks you're taking just by living with her. Learn how to use a gun. Learn how to use a knife. Learn how to cook like she does, hot and spicy and home-like. Learn to expect her in the mornings and to sneak out at night so you don’t get stabbed in your sleep. Learn how to form a family again, no matter how lopsided and damaged it is, no matter how many nights she is gone. 

After a few weeks, go out one night. Find an abandoned playground at three in the morning. Meet the girl from your first night in the city, the one whose banter enthralled you, who ran away into the night and didn’t look back. You will recognize each other, but you will not say a word. Her name is Gabby. Watch the sunrise together, and proceed to find yourself rushing to get back home before Jackie gets there and finds you missing. Agree to meet her again soon.

Find a family in Gabby and Jackie; in Jackie's motherly embrace, in Gabby's sisterly banter. Live happy in this hellhole of a city for a while. Enjoy it while you can. You do not have long.

* * *

When the flames come, you will have to run again. Run inside first, without worry for your own life, only for Jackie's. Find her favorite jacket, the one she doesn't leave home without. Take it with you and lose all hope as you recall her last night, cradling you in her arms and murmuring lovely things you've never heard before into your ears. Try to save her books in lieu of her person. Your eyes will start to burn. Wonder whether it's because of the fire all around you or the ugly sobs that are rushing up through your throat and your eyes. 

Now run again. Run out of the library with her tattered jacket, burned at the edges, and a couple books you saved. Run out and don't turn back to watch the building, your only home in years, burn to the ground. Run out and don't think about Jackie's burnt body in the back. Run out and don't think about  _ Jackie _ . Run out and look for Gabby. Search the fucking streets, and find yourself in front of an apartment building. She will be standing there too. Ignore the glazed look of guilt in her eyes. Jump into her arms and let her hold you. Cry. 

Grow bitter and angry. Be talkative around the only person you have now, and curl into yourself when you're alone, because over these last few months you've grown to hate being alone. 

Love Gabby. Love Gabby and her rigged coin flipping game, her tattered pillows, her tired grin. Love Gabby for holding you in her arms even into the later evenings while you cry, you mourn. Love Gabby for assuring you that everything will be okay, for being your rock. Love Gabby and all your talks with her, your shared dreams of safety and love and family. Love Gabby and secretly think of her as your best friend, even though she's your only friend. Love Gabby. But don't show it. She will know even despite how snappy and bitter you are. She will know you love her. She will love you back. Two years with her will pass. 

Go with Gabby to one of her fighting nights, or whatever the hell they're called. She's told you about them a few times, how ingrained the culture of this betting seems to be in New York, but to you they're unfamiliar and nothing but pathetic dogfights. Snark to her under your breath that she's lucky her power gets them money like this. Chuckle when she says that  _ of course _ she's lucky, it's her fucking power. Watch her and her betting partner each hand over a wad of money on opposite opponents and smile to yourself, for he has no clue  _ who exactly _ he's betting with.

Then stand stiff as you watch those who are not as blessed as you fight in the arena, those who are poor, or powered, or weak, or hungry, or old, or young. Watch Gabby bet again and again, and watch the burly man who keeps betting against her grow angrier and angrier. Put a hand on your thigh, for there lies a concealed knife strapped to your skin. Pull out your notebook and a marker. Get ready to pounce if you must. 

Listen to Gabby after her tenth bet, for she seems to notice her betting partner's fist clenching over and over and over in a fit of poorly-hidden fury. Follow her outside, and then stop in your tracks when a man at the door to the exit grabs her by the arm tightly and tells her not to leave. Realize that she doesn't have an escape plan when you see the fear in her eyes. 

Then, let the flames of fury and preservation consume you.

It will all rush by, as though minutes are milliseconds. Stand far away from the fire you started together. Don't think about the memories behind flames of that caliber. Don't think about the weight of the tattered black jacket resting on your shoulders. Focus on Gabby's hand in yours, your footsteps in sync as you run towards a huge ship during your desperate attempt to escape the authorities. Focus on slow steps as you sneak inside, into the storage deck. 

Become a stowaway. Meet the captain of the ship called Knowhere.

Join their crew, no matter how much you don't want to.

* * *

Bury yourself in books, in writing. Do this for days on end. Don't think about Jackie. Make simple conversation with people about their powers. Find a family. Find a family that you love but don't want to join, because you're sure you will not belong there in their embraces, in their warm food, in their inside jokes, in their late-night chats. Talk to Gabby instead. Pour out your heart to her.

Regret that the day you have to rip the tracker that leads part of her old gang from New York to the ship out of her arm. See red in her blood and in memories of the fire. Hate her. Hate her, hate her, hate her, because how could she betray you like this? Find that the voice in your head that perches on your shoulder was always right, and curse Mishi for it. Why didn't you listen to them?

Throw yourself off of the ship later on when bandits arrive and after what you hope is your final conversation with Gabby.

See Jackie in the sky above you. Get shot.

Go into a coma.

See yourself, in so many different universes. You and Gabby not on the ship. You and your brother if he had cared. You and Lesia, you and Ghet, you and Nova, and Havok, and Khio, and Bee, and Lanie...

See you and Jackie. Smile. Think of the good memories. Come to terms with the fact that she is gone, thanks to your old friend.

You need to make a new family now.

So wake up. Find Knowhere around you, all huddled at your bedside. And for the next God-knows-how-long, learn. Let them teach you. Learn to use your notebook in combat. Learn to fight and become strong enough to beat Lesia in a fight someday. Learn to not mind when she goes easy on you. Learn to strategize, to find unique ways for your friends to use their powers. Learn to accept fellow kindred spirits on the streets, learn to show them kindness. Learn to be spiteful and sassy without really hurting. 

Learn to love again. Learn to trust again.

Learn to forgive.

* * *

_ These are the diaries of Mx Rishi. I don't have any last name anymore. Not since I left. _

_ I am fourteen. I have no other family besides my brother, I don't think. _

_ I hope someday that will change. _

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
